Dear Mister Ed

If yer like most folks Darrol, you probly spent the past while or two glued to yer TV waitin’ to see how much hardwear gets strung round the necks of Canadian athaleets in Vancoover.

Now I aint normily much of a one fer the sports, but when the best of our young’uns are out there bustin’ a gusset in the Olympicks and the Parralympickal Games its somethink else all together.

When the band busts into Oh Canada and the red leaf goes up the pole, if yer eyebulbs is still dry as the Carcross Dessert and yer chest aint puffed up a tad, its time to check yer pulse cauz somethin’ aint rite.

Anyways, its a safe bet that all them Youconners takin’ part in the festivitys are rackin’ up some fine yarns to tell the grandkids. Or not, as the case may be.

If you was wonderin’ how Eva made out with her protest, theres a tail in itself. She never got onto the TV like she wanted but mind you, she did’nt end up in the pokey, neether.

First thing she found in Vancoover was there was she cudn’t find a single vehickal to rent fer less than what it wud cost to burry CleoPatra herself.

The folks she was stayin’ with was set to loan her there small forrin car, but wud’nt you know it got recalled to its Maker that very same week.

Not that it mattered much, seein’ as how the streets that was’nt all blocked off looked more like parkin’ lots than streets, ‘scept there was no parkin’ allowed.

Its never been Evas style to ride on busses and such, but now shes gone all envyronmental she figgered that’s what she shud otta do anyways.

So first thing Wensday she gets herself onto a buss and heads fer Whissler. Of coarse, she aint packin’ anythink mettle, on accounta all the hi-teck detecktive gadgits they got.

But in her back pack there happens to be a chunk of yeller plastic rope she plans to tie her self to the ski lift with once the cammras start to roll.

When she hits the gate shes face to face with a Size 13 securrity guy with the smile of a wolvereen.

“Empty the bag please, Mam” he says, so she does. One look at the rope and he says “if you aint here fer search and resckue, yer in a heap of trubble, Missus.”

Now Evas barely big as a minnit, but she dont take guff from no one.

“That’s Mizz to you” she hollers. “How dare you bring my marrital status into this? Whats yer number?”

The poor lad clearly did’nt count on a reel live Sufferjet, speshully a tiny extra loud one that looked like his Granny.

He goes all red and starts to mumble. “Please Mam, jest hand me the rope and get back on the bus. We can forget the hole thing.”

Round One to Eva. Tell you more next week.

Yer pal,

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